


Somewhere only we know

by BenegodCumberchrist



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Homophobic Language, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Running Away, Sheriarty - Freeform, homophobia tw, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:25:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenegodCumberchrist/pseuds/BenegodCumberchrist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was his first day at a new school. Of course he'd find trouble. He's Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>With his brother graduating university, and his parents constantly being away, Sherlock feels more alone than ever. Who knew that it only took one person to make things seem alright?</p><p>At least, until everything they built together comes crashing down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this thought for a while, and I'm ready to release it into the wild. Hope you enjoy!

Each footstep from the empty hall, created an echo. Sherlock liked the echoes. It made him feel as if there were someone walking with him instead of just the lonely house. 

His family had moved into a few weeks prior to the new school year. If moving wasn't already insanely stressful, school wouldn't help with that.

Sherlock spent most of his time alone. Sure he had his brother, but in all honesty, he wasn't much. Sherlock had isolated himself from the world, because he knew there was no one to match him, and his brother always told him to go away any time Sherlock tried to strike up a conversation. He wished that Mycroft was a better sibling sometimes. The worst feeling was when he would watch TV and see the happy families. He would scoff and turn away, because his family wasn't actually like that. His family seemed broken.

The stairs groaned when he walked down each one. Sherlock didn't like that sound quite as much as the echoes.

He didn't bother with brushing his teeth, as he didn't want to be late for his first day. He also hadn't bothered to spend time on his hair. It was curly, so it wouldn't stay put anyway, and besides, first impressions weren't that important.

His parents were at work, and Mycroft was probably doing something important. He wasn't really sure any more.

Sherlock suddenly didn't feel that hungry.

\---

Sherlock had classes in English, Maths, Science, Drama, Art, Band, and his least favourite, Physical Education.

The thought of running around a room with a bunch of sweat soaked imbeciles made him sick. Who thought that would be a good idea? Teenagers with their raging hormones, and body odour, and sometimes even violent tendencies! Trying to hit the weaker ones with dodge balls that would sting their skin if it came into contact.

Maybe he could just skip P.E.

The first day, Sherlock didn't do much, except go to each class, and learn about what he would be doing for the rest of the semester.

\---

School had been... Decent. Better than he had expected. Sherlock had assumed that there would be more bullying then there actually was, but he had also seen that from the TV. It was a trope people used to make their stories interesting, and Sherlock's story was a boring one he guessed.

His bag wasn't heavy, and he smelled of sweat. His clothes were clean however, which Sherlock was thankful for. He wasn't sure how he would make it home with the stench of body odour radiating off of him.

High School was gross.

\---

Sherlock laid on his bed, his eyes closed. He was thinking about school. He was thinking about life. He was thinking about the pit of hunger in his stomach.

It was dark, but Sherlock decided to go for a walk, since his parents weren't home, and Mycroft wouldn't care if he was gone.

His coat was light, but he wouldn't be out for very long, so Sherlock didn't bother adding another layer. The cold didn't really bother him too much anyway.

Outside, the air was fresh and crisp. It felt sharp and painful against his skin, and it looked like he was smoking. Each breath he drew, the exhalation left a cloud of warm air that dissipated quickly. His lips were freezing, but he pressed on walking, and soon, he found himself at a park.

At around one in the morning, it wouldn't be surprising to see drunk people shouting and stumbling as they hobble to wherever they go. Maybe he'd see someone sleeping in the cold, and he'd wonder what happened to them. Maybe he'd see a girl walking home, who was scared of the dark, and perhaps he'd see someone walking behind her. Maybe he wouldn't see anyone, but in Central London, that would be quite odd.

The park was empty, and Sherlock was concerned. Why wouldn't there be anyone in a dog park? People without homes would surely flock to the nearest soft ground.

He sat down on a bench, and thought. 'Maybe there's been a murder recently. Maybe something else. You know, this could just be a quiet night.'

His eyes were closed, and he searched through endless possibilities.

Perhaps there is a better park nearby that-

He was broken out of his trance, by someone poking him.

"Do I know you?"

Sherlock looked over, and saw a slightly chubby boy, around Sherlock's age. The boy was wearing a shirt, which said St. Bart's Academy.

"We go to the same school," Sherlock pointed out, gesturing to the golden lettering etched into the jacket.

"Oh. Is this your first year at the Academy?" The boy had a thick Irish accent and it rumbled through Sherlock's chest when he spoke.

"Yes."

"My name's James, but you can call me Jim," he smiled.

"My name is Sherlock."

"That's a very," Jim paused. "It's a very unusual name."

"It is."

They sat quietly, before Sherlock broke the silence.

"So, what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to clear my head."

"In the middle of the night?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"What's your excuse then?" Jim laughed. "Lost your dog?"

"Same as you actually. My parents work long nights, so I thought maybe a walk would do me some good."

"That must be nice," Jim ran a hand through his hair. "I can't imagine getting the house to myself for that long. My parents don't trust me."

"I wouldn't trust you either, seeing as you sneak out at night."

"Oh god! Um, yeah I probably need to get back. See you at school?"

Sherlock smiled. "Alright."

\---

The walk had calmed Sherlock's nerves, but school the next day was terrible, because this was the day that Sherlock had a lovely conversation with the oh so charming Carl Powers.

Sherlock was on his way home, when his bag was pulled from behind, causing him to stumble backwards. He tried to turn around, only to have his bag pulled again. Sherlock decided to just take his bag off, and assess the situation. When he finally managed to get out, he saw an older teen, unzipping his bag and taking things out, throwing them on the ground.

"Stop that!" Sherlock yelled, trying aimlessly to grab his bag back.

"What do you have in here?" he asked, dumping the rest out.

Sherlock dived to catch his notes, before they fell in a puddle, but it was too late.

"Whoops," he said. "My hand slipped."

"Fuck off," Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

Luckily, the asshole didn't hear him, and he walked away, dropping the backpack.

Sherlock's notes were ruined. He wasn't like Mycroft. His memory was ordinary, and he needed those notes.

All of a sudden, as Sherlock was standing over the wreckage, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"I see you've met Carl Powers then." It was the boy from the park. James had an unmistakable Irish accent, and his tone was slightly humorous.

"My notes are ruined."

"No," he said sarcastically. "Really?"

"Go away," Sherlock pouted.

Jim walked closer to the notes, and ran his fingers over the mushy paper. "Was this on Astronomy?"

"Yes, why?"

James grinned. "I have the notes right here! I can help you study. Only if you want."

Sherlock sighed. "I want. My place or yours?"

"Yours," Jim said quickly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that.

He left his notes in the puddle, and walked quickly in the direction of his house, with Jim trailing close behind, taking quick steps to catch up to Sherlock.

"Slow down!"

Sherlock kept his pace.

"Talk to me!"

Sherlock huffed. "What should I say?"

"Hmm. What's your favourite..." he trailed off.

"Colour," Sherlock suggested.

"Nah, that's boring. What's your favourite song?"

"I don't mind classical," Sherlock answered.

"Nope. You like the BeeGees. I can tell."

"Not really..."

"Of course you do! Everyone does!" James exclaimed.

Eventually, after ten minutes of Jim explaining how the BeeGees were revolutionary, they reached the Holmes Manor.

"Stayin' Alive! What about... I Started A Joke? That's a good one."

"Alright, I'll listen to it. Calm down," Sherlock said, stepping towards his front door.

James stopped in his tracks, and took in the large home. It had a lovely red brick overlay, and the wood panelling was a beautiful deep brown.

"You live here?" James scoffed.

Sherlock was taken aback. "Of course!"

"Huh."

"No one's home," Sherlock said as they stepped inside.

"Fuck! Bitch! Asshole!" Jim screamed, loudly alerting the neighbours.

"Shhh!"

"What?" Jim chuckled. "No one's home, asshole, motherfucking bitch!"

"Are those the only swears you know?"

James snorted. "I know shit, dick, cock, tits, pussy-"

As soon as the swears came out, Sherlock heard footsteps from the stairs. His face turned bright red, and James immediately covered his mouth.

Mycroft stood, watching Sherlock and James bathe in embarrassment.

"Erm," Jim said uncomfortably.

"Why is it," Mycroft started. "That you are in my home, swearing loudly?"

"I wasn't aware you were home, and I was trying to be funny," Jim said, not looking him in he eyes.

"Well it's not. Sherlock, may I speak with you for a moment?"

He reluctantly followed his brother, and silently prayed that Jim wouldn't break anything while he was getting lectured.

"Sherlock," he began. "Who is this boy?"

"His name is James Moriarty. I dropped my notes in a puddle, and he's helping me make new ones."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Are you copying notes?"

"Like you'd care."

"Of course I care. You should be more careful with your work. I don't want the school calling me, do I?"

"I'll be more careful next time. Sorry."

Mycroft smiled, but it left Sherlock with an uneasy feeling in his chest.

"That's good to hear. And before you go, tell your friend to stop swearing. It's unbecoming of a young man."

"Yes Mycroft."

Sherlock awkwardly shuffled back into the room, where Jim winced.

"Sorry. You said there wasn't anyone here."

"That's because no one's ever really here. I've been on my own since a week ago. This is the first I've seen of Mycroft."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "A week? I'd be lucky to have ten fucking minutes to myself."

"Mycroft says no swearing."

Jim leaned in close and whispered, "Screw Mycroft. All the Kings horses and your brother can't make me do a thing I don't want to."

"But I'm not my brother, am I?"

"You really aren't."

Sherlock slouched. "He thinks he's so great. I can do anything he can."

"Like what?" James asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I can deduce people. He has trouble sometimes."

"Try me then."

Sherlock looked away. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll get mad."

James smiled. "I promise that I won't get mad at you, Sherlock."

He took a deep breath, and Sherlock began deducing. "Your personality is mild when it comes to confrontation, judging by how you acted when Mycroft caught you swearing. That might indicate an abusive relationship with your parents, but it also could be the fact that you were born with a submissive mindset. It might also be a bit of both.

"You talk about your parents a lot, but never directly, saying things like 'I never get time to myself.' That might mean there are deep family issues, which resonate within your subconscious. Perhaps your parents have disowned you for being gay, or they don't know yet, but have a suspicion. I can guess from their homophobia, that they are extremely religious, and that you don't agree one word of it."

Sherlock tried to catch his breath.

"How did you-"

"How did I know you were gay? It was mostly a guess since I never like using stereotypes because they are often skewed, but sometimes, they play as an advantage. I noticed your underwear. It's a very particular brand that is common with gay men. Also, if you have deep issues with your family, then often times it's because of something they don't understand, and your 'stereotypically gay' personality might give them red flags. Therefore, I think that you have issues with your religious family because of your sexuality."

"Huh. That's really neat that you can do that," James said, dazed.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, it's just that no one knows."

"Oh."

James smiled softly. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

James laughed. "What're you apologising for? Being gay isn't any different than being straight really. I'm just like you. I swear. I'm not going to be weird with you."

Sherlock scoffed. "Do you see me as someone who would think any different of you?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Not really, no."

"Then shut up, and give me your notes."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff

"I swear to god, if Carl Powers doesn't stop bothering you, I'll kill him myself," said James, sitting down next to Sherlock on the grassy field.

"I don't doubt for a second that you would. Look out Carl, Moriarty is a stone cold killer," Sherlock laughed. "You, a murderer! That's be hilarious!"

"Don't laugh at me!" James giggled. "I'm a murderer! Stop laughing!"

"That'd be nice though. Having Carl gone."

"Wouldn't it though," James sighed.

The sky was blue, and it didn't feel at all like mid-winter. More like a chilly fall.

"How would you do it?" Sherlock asked. "Kill him?"

James thought for a moment. "Poison maybe. Or, drown him in the pool. That'd be ironic. The star swimmer drowning?"

"It would raise questions. Accidents don't just happen like that. Not to people like Carl," Sherlock countered.

"Well how would you do it then?"

"Inject a small air bubble into the heart. Fake a heart attack."

Jim smirked. "Wouldn't that raise questions? Such a young athlete getting a heart attack?"

"You're right. My bad. Maybe I'd give him an overdose. Troubled teen accidentally kills self."

"That's a bad headline. Oh I've got one. Carl Powers: Watery Grave."

Sherlock grinned. "I like the sound of that one."

James looked at Sherlock. "Y'know, last year it was worse."

"In what way?"

"With you here, I guess he kind of forgot about me."

"I hope he forgets me soon," Sherlock snorted.

"I'd kill him if I could. He'd deserve it, you know. Some people do."

"Yeah. Some of them."

James sat up. "He deserves it."

"Yeah, but I was joking about that."

James laid back down. "So was I, Sherlock. Duh. I don't kill people."

Sherlock moved closer to Jim.

"Sometimes, as much as it hurts, you have to let them win. When he's older, then maybe he'll have a shitty life, and have to work for you. I bet you'd be a terrible boss to him, but he'd have to listen to you, because his swimming scholarship didn't work out."

Jim sighed. "Because for some reason his leg just gave out."

"Exactly."

The breeze blew past them, and they sat there, watching the field, and sneaking glances at each other.

\---

Without James Moriarty, Sherlock wouldn't be able to survive this school. Carl Powers was a dick, most people knew. The thing that most people didn't know, was that John Watson, was also an utter cockhead.

It started with a rumour, and it turned into much more.

"Are they dating?"

That was what John Watson had wondered, and the whole school had been playing a fucked-up version of telephone. He didn't think John actually meant it, but the harm had been done.

"I heard Jim had sex with him."

"Sherlock sucked James off in the alley! Right over there!"

"They're trying to hide it, look!"

Sherlock and James walked through the hallway, and tried to become invisible, which of course failed miserably.

"They don't know us," James mumbled. "We aren't dating!"

"People don't care. They just want a story. It'll be over in a week or so, and if it's not, then fuck them. John Watson can go to hell for starting that rumour."

James shivered. "I don't want to lose you because some homophobic assholes make you uncomfortable."

"You are literally my only friend here. Who do you think I'd leave you for?"

"I don't know! Just let me have my dramatic moment, okay?"

"We've had enough dramatic moments today, I've met my threshold."

Someone ran up behind them, and started chanting.

"Faggot one and faggot two! One sticks his dick in, where the other one poos!"

James closed his eyes, and took deep breaths. "That's not even a good rhyme."

"Keep walking," Sherlock whispered.

"Run away! Run away! Don't let the fags get you, or you'll be one too!" People started to laugh and cheer him on.

James turned around and charged towards the chanter.

The man's eyes grew wide when he saw Jim about to touch him.

"Get it away!" he screamed.

James grabbed him by the balls, and squeezed hard, which made the aggressor scream.

"Does that hurt?" James said through clenched teeth. "Does it fucking hurt?! Answer me!"

Sherlock stood in shock at Jim. He had never seen him filled with such anger, and it was terrifying. This wasn't who Sherlock had become friends with. Not this.

He was friends with the Jim who laughed at Sherlock's bad jokes. He was friends with the Jim who could talk for hours on end about the universe, and every one of its molecules. He was friends with the Jim that would help deduce people at the school, and point out the things Sherlock had missed.

Every little story they shared, every song they listened to, and each homework assignment they'd copy off of each other. That was with Jim.

But this, was a monster.

\---

"I don't know what came over me," James said with a blank stare. "I didn't mean to hurt him. He was calling me names."

The principal didn't look amused.

"What did he call you?"

"He called me a faggot, Mrs."

She inhaled a sharp breath. "Well are you a faggot?"

James grit his teeth. "No."

"Then why would it bother you so much?"

"I don't know."

"Off you go then. I expect an apology to the boy you hurt."

"Alright, Mrs."

James stepped out of the office, and over to where the boy stood.

"I'm sorry for hurting you," James said, obviously not.

"Yeah, go home fag."

"I will."

\---

Any rumour about the two of them was gone now. In fact, when they walked down the hallway, there was a silence. No one dared to bother them.

Sherlock didn't like the silence. It reminded him of the monster that James was.

"Sherlock. Please," James pleaded to him as they walked down the hall.

"What?"

James looked away. "Promise me you'll stay by my side, no matter what?"

"Why?"

"Because," Jim groaned. "I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I've already said I wasn't."

"Yeah," James whined. "But mean it this time. Okay?"

Sherlock stopped walking, and turned to face him. "James Moriarty, I will stay by your side, no matter what."

"'Till death do us part?"

"And whatever lies beyond."

James smiled. "Thanks."

"I mean it you know."

"I know. "

\---

When winter finally kicked in, James had decided that ice-skating would be fun, and he also decided that it wouldn't be fun without Sherlock, so the two of them went together.

"I have no idea what I'm doing right now," James said, stepping carefully onto the slippery ice.

"Just go slow, and kinda-" Sherlock wiggled his feet, and he was propelled forward.

"Just kinda-" Jim copied the movement, and (less gracefully) moved forward as well.

"I did it!" he yelled.

"You did!" Sherlock clapped. "Now do that faster."

James gingerly took another step, and almost fell.

"Sherlock! Help me!"

"Come over here and I'll help."

James shook his head. "You're too far!"

"Just try!"

"Yeah, that's not happening."

Sherlock smirked. "Come on, Jim. I believe in you!"

James took another step, and was sent flying into Sherlock's arms, making them both topple over.

"Oww!" James said.

"Get off!" Sherlock chuckled.

"Ice skating is stupid. Let's leave," he said, lifting himself up on the rail.

"You wanted to go!" Sherlock giggled.

"Yeah, but I didn't know I would have to do things."

Sherlock got up, and started to skate away.

"Don't leave me!"

Jim, not wanting to be alone on the ice by himself, tried to mimic the woman in front of him.

She pushed off of her foot in a weird sideways motion, and then whoosh.

Jim tried it, and went a bit faster. He tried it again, and he went forwards. He kept doing it, and eventually he started to actually gain momentum.

Sherlock was only a few inches away from him, but Jim didn't know how to stop, so he crashed into Sherlock.

"Surprise!" Jim said.

"This is the most boring date I've ever been on."

"Oh? So this is a date now?" James giggled.

"No! I just meant it was... Boring."

James laughed. "I know right? Let's get food instead."

They climbed out of the rink, and shuffled towards a hotdog stand.

"Oh shit," said Jim, searching in his pockets. "I don't have any money."

"I'll pay."

"No!" James shouted, a bit too loud. "It's fine. I'll eat some other time."

Sherlock walked up to the stand, while Jim stayed seating on a picnic table. He felt his stomach rumble, and he sighed.

When Sherlock came back, he had two hotdogs in hand.

"One for me," Sherlock said, placing the hotdog down. "And one for you."

"Sherlock, you didn't-"

"Just let me do this."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"Oh for gods sake, say thanks and eat."

James smiled. "Thanks."

It was pretty good, but Jim didn't savour it. He didn't realise that he was actually that hungry. They wolfed down their food, and left.

James and Sherlock walked through the city for the day, admiring the shops, and commenting on people walking down the street, making fake deductions.

It was their own version of paradise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff chapter that isn't what it seems...

Springtime was upon England, the worst of the weather had passed, and flowers had just begun to bloom. 

James had said to Sherlock, that he knew a place no one else did. So Sherlock had agreed to let Jim lead the way. 

They took the bus out of London, and James had smiled the whole way, telling Sherlock that he'd never want to leave.

When they reached their stop, in a town Sherlock had never heard of, James grabbed his hand. 

"It's around the corner!" 

The sun was right above them, and it's warmth felt like a blessing from the cold winter they had only a few months before. 

When Sherlock saw the place, his mouth stood agape. 

There was a red brick wall, that was covered with a thick green ivy. The sun hit it in a way that gave it a divine glow. It looked old, and there was a small hole to the side of it, which looked like it could barely fit James. 

"Do I have to crawl through that?" Sherlock asked, pointing to the opening. 

"Yes."

James went first, and Sherlock followed soon after, mumbling under his breath. 

He prayed there were no spiders inside of the little tunnel. 

The other side was a meadow, and the sun gave it a dreamlike tint. There were violets and daisies blooming wildly, and a gentle breeze rocked them softly. 

"How did you find this place?" 

James shrugged. "Exploring when I was younger. I promised myself I'd never show anybody, but as soon as I met you, I knew I had to take you here."

It smelled warm and thick, and there was an odd comfort to the area. 

"I love it."

James sat down, and the two of them talked about what could've been here before. Sherlock had suggested a train station, but James had pointed out that there were no tracks. 

When the sun began to lower, they cuddled up close, and talked some more. 

"You ever wonder about the future?" James asked. 

Sherlock nodded, putting his head on James' shoulder. 

"Maybe we should build a house here. We can run away."

Sherlock smiled at the thought. He had to admit, it would be nice, but it was also unrealistic. "Where would we get food?" 

James shrugged. "Minor detail."

"It's getting a bit cold," Sherlock sighed.

James reached into his bag, and took a sleeping bag out. 

"I only had one. Is that alright?"

"No problem."

He unzipped it, and they both climbed into the small bed. Their bodies had never been this close before. Their faces were freezing, but their bodies were radiating heat. 

"This is the part that people would normally have sex," James joked. 

Sherlock laughed. "In this thing? I can barely move my legs, let alone my hips!"

James stopped smiling. "Can I deduce you now, Sherlock?"

"Yes. Go ahead," he said calmly. 

James was silent for a moment before continuing. "You... I think you like me."

Sherlock shuffled a bit closer. "You're my best friend. Of course I like you."

James sighed. "Yeah. That's what I mean."

Sherlock snorted, then it started to grow into laughter. Hard. Like a stomach burning, hysterical laugh. "I'm sorry-" Sherlock said, gasping for air in between each laugh. "You think I'd sleep with you if I didn't like you?"

"I don't know what you mean-"

"I like you James. God."

James smiled and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. 

"You don't have to be prude. I like mouth kisses," Sherlock winked. 

James listened. Sherlock leaned into the innocent kiss, and eventually they fell into a peaceful sleep.

\---

There was no awkwardness the next morning. Sherlock had thought there would be, but all that had happened was happiness. 

"We should pack up," James said, putting on a shirt. "And I meant what I said last night, Sherlock."

"About you liking me?" Sherlock asked with a grin, stuffing the sleeping bag into a carrier.

James laughed. "Well, yeah. But I was thinking about something else."

Sherlock stopped packing. "You mean running away?"

James smiled. "I know you're thinking it's impossible, but we could pull it off."

"James, this is something I need to think about. You know I'd say yes if I could."

"Just consider it," James said. 

"God, I want to."

James shrugged. "So why don't you?"

\---

The doorbell rang at three in the morning. 

Ding. 

Ding-ding-ding.

It wasn't dramatic like he'd imagine it to be. There was no rain, no sirens. It was a nice warm night. 

Ding-ding-diiiiiinnnng.

He ran to open the door. 

He saw James. He was crying and he had two suitcases in his hands. His pant knees were dirty, like he had fallen. 

"Come in," Sherlock said, opening the door wider. 

James shook his head. "We have to go now." There was an urgency in his tone. 

"What's going on?"

"My dad knows. He- he found out about us. I don't know how."

Sherlock ran a hand through his curls to calm himself down. "What can he do about it. It's out of his control."

James took a deep breath, obviously trying to relax. "My dad is trying to send me to conversion therapy. He says I'm never going to see you again," James said, shaking. 

Sherlock started to panic as well. "What are you going to do?"

James ran over to him and gave Sherlock a hug. He mumbled something into his chest. 

"I can't hear you," Sherlock said gently. 

James took another deep breath. "Remember when I said we could run away?"

Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to give his whole life up for James. Then it clicked into place. James was his whole life. 

It felt surreal to believe it. Sherlock wanted to deny it, but it was true. If James had to run away, so would Sherlock. 

Sherlock packed his bags that night.


End file.
